


Walk This Way

by Yueira



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Comic Book Science, Drinking, F/M, Inappropriate Humor, Other, Reluctant Romance?, Some Plot, Time Travel, cher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yueira/pseuds/Yueira
Summary: So Cable is kind of stuck here for now, and Wade just wishes he'd become a bit more chummy, much to Weasel's chagrin. Shenanigans unfold when a mysterious woman buys them all drinks in a bar and just once, maybe we can all have our happy endings. Euphemisms, man.





	1. And You'd Stay

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So I suck at Summaries ok? Will clean this up when I get a chance, just need this out there so I can finally sleep. Thanks for reading, I hope you like it as much as my brain did at 2 am in the morning.
> 
> I like to think I'm funny, so maybe this one is too?

_It had been a couple of days since the events involving the young firestarter – a.k.a. the subtly-named Firefist – a.k.a. reformed arsonist of the future – a.k.a. Russell – and he had been taken in by the organisation that was behind Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Wade was sure that the X-men would make a good hero out of his tubbiness. They were good people. Better people than he was, anyway. Regardless, here they were, with whatever was left of that fateful operation as the X Force. He’d miss them and the good times he had had together—_

“Uh Wade, you know you’re speaking aloud, right?” He looked up at the mess that was his best friend, Weasel, who owned the bar they were all in.

“Am I doing that thing again? Dammit, I knew I should have skipped the in-flight movies in the X-plane on the way back. Bully for the sultry sounds of Vincent Price.”

Weasel laughed nervously as he did sometimes, though today he had picked up the bottle that Wade had set on the counter, wiped the little ring of condensation left by the glass surface, before doing it again not five seconds later.

For a moment, he thought that Weasel was rendered so nervous by the appearance of Cable, the grizzled beast of a man sitting two stools away, both eyes (good and evil-glowy ones) on the beer bottle in front of him. Ol' Gravelly over there was just so prickly (though his man-stubble was quite macho), though Wade was sure that he was getting through that masculine, Old (Salty) Spice-exterior, it wouldn’t be long now before they were even better friends.  Everyone just needed some… _extra_ motivation _._

As expected, no one in the bar seemed to be willing to edge closer to the mysterious man with the giant gun and “utility bag”, his macho aura of silent brooding had effectively repelled all advances, including anyone looking for a refill of their drinks. The hunk of dangerous, gunpowder-loaded beefcake had effectively cleared out Weasel’s clientele for the evening. Domino was determined to get the jukebox up and running again, so she did nothing for the fastly-disappearing thugs who were suddenly all eager to leave them to it.

“Got any ideas to help grease down the machine? We need a way lighten Robocop up,” he said, nodding at the bartender, barely noticing that Weasel wasn’t quite listening. A very strange, high-pitched whistling seemed to emit from the man’s open mouth. Wade looked up at his feverish friend, who always looked a bit peaky from his time spent indoors and saw him sneaking glances at a lovely specimen of a young woman. Now Wade knew that _TJ_ definitely liked his blondes –  especially those in the getup of a very demure librarian, tight turtleneck, a slightly-messy bun, dressed in varying shades of gray.

_Heh. ‘Pumpkin Butter’ would make a good safe word. Even goes with the season. Someone should write that fan-fiction. Maybe I should. Hire Ryan Reynolds as Mr Butter himself._

He paused, giving this woman more than the usual once-over _._ She seemed to be busy with something, writing something and checking her phone every now and then, completely oblivious to the unnervingly quiet bar on biker night. His now-sweaty friend had just given him an idea.

“Hey stud, why don’t you go over there and introduce yourself? Go on, git,” Wade smirked, making a small shooing motion with two fingers, before turning them upwards, managing to make it a very dirty gesture. The grimace on Weasel’s face only grew uglier (if such a thing was possible).

“Na—nah man,” the mutter was breathy, and its owner seemed to shudder. “Women… women don’t find me attractive. Especially not the _sobe_ – not – not any sort.”

Momentarily torn between giving the sad sack a pep talk or to report for wingman duty, Wade felt uncomfortable. He knew it was wrong to laugh, or make it a terrible, awful joke at Weasel’s expense – yet he felt this insane need bubble up through his lungs—but before he could say anything, the jukebox started up with progressive pop-rock synths, jolting them all, even the stoic statue of the _Winter Soldier_ to his left.  

Cher’s _If I Could Turn Back Time_ poured out of the speakers, pricking something at the back of his mind. _Never mind that for now, Cher is more important_ , he told himself as Domino sauntered over, perching herself on the seat, humming along to the glorious vocals, even the electric Starship pop-rock wails of the guitars.

“Got it to work,” she grinned, satisfied with herself. Wade was still not-convinced that her 'good luck' was just that, but at that point, he didn't really care to argue about it anymore.

 _If I could turn back time, if I could find a way,_ Wade mouthed along with Cher, tapping the countertop, barely conscious that his friend was being waved over, a hapless awkward moth to the young, sensual flame-haired woman. Wade wondered if he even should mention that Weasel was walking a little funny, and even his pants seemed a little darker and a little fulle _– ew –_ taking it back _,_ retching _,_ gagging QUICK BURN IT OUT _,_ but it was too late. Now, the image was forever seared into his frontal lobe. Wade made a mental note to bleach it the next time he tried a lobotomy – which was probably in thirty minutes. Maybe less.

It didn’t take long before even _she_ swept out the door, slipping on a coat that brushed up against Himalayanface’s fanny pack, deepening the scowl on his craggy brow. The man was sure possessive over his man purse, one hand now cradling it protectively against further molestation. He seemed to be checking that these pockets hadn’t been violated, rummaging through each compartment like an overgrown Yogi in the woods.

Four glasses now lined the counter, one for each person left in the bar. They were filled with the same whiskey the librarian had been nursing all afternoon. “Sh—she bought us all drinks. Even me. God, I feel like such an idiot – now I’ll never see her again.”

_I didn't want to see you go, know I made you cry, but baby-_

The sudden flurry of movement from the Millionfrowns man drew all their (with the exception of a distraught Weasel) attention, and just like in none of the noir-est of movies, Cable was leaving without even touching his free whiskey, and in his hand was a scrap of paper that looked like a page from the little book Weasel’s crush had been writing in.

“Hey, finish the drink the gorgeous lady bought you,” muttered Weasel as he eyed the statuesque figure.

“I only drink beer.” Came the gruff reply.

"It's been paid for, might as well?" But Domino's advice appeared to have fallen on deaf processors as Inspector Gadget started to leave.

“She was a regular Egghead, eh, Weasel? Wrote a lot of symbols and math while she’s here. OR they could be witchcraft. Must be witchcraft. Freak-ay shit,” Wade said, watching both men carefully.

“Oh yeah, I saw her. She had a nice ensemble going on, looked a bit bookish,” grinned Domino, who was helping herself to Cable’s ignored drink.  _Stonejaw_ was already half-out the bar.

A long silence settled over the three of them left behind.

“Well, I guess we found out that he’s a cheap lay.”

“Feels like an show on TLC.  We could call it ‘Cockblocked by the Terminator’.”

“—named Sir Gruffalot.”

“Guys, I really appreciate your attempts at cheering me up, but you’re not helping.”


	2. That's Where It Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is headed in a different direction than intended. Guess we'll see where this goes, hm?

Two people were proceeding down both ends of the street. Still more were shuffling on the opposite side of the road. Still holding the page in his hand, he utilised the scanner in his now-bionic eye, trying to ascertain which of the retreating figures belonged to that woman in the bar. Thankfully, approximate height and weight matched that of only one, headed up east. Cable picked up the pace, eager to not lose her in the encroaching dim.

She turned a corner and continued, the sensible boots tapped against the pavement; dark, nondescript short coat blending almost into the shadows. The pockets were deep enough to hide weapons, though these would be small and unlikely to be firearms. Only her bright hair caught the light of the overhead streetlamps, dimmer in this part of town. The small piles of fallen leaves began to cover the sidewalk as they approached the edge of the construction projects. This was… a park. A forced gathering of greenery that was no longer found fifty years in the future. Governments had found them difficult to maintain as vegetation kept dying in the poisoned grounds of technocratic cities. One wondered how she felt safe enough to tread where skulkers and hooligans lurked as she set foot between the gates of the park, no hesitation whatsoever. But he had finally neared the woman, aware that his own quick steps were audible to her by now.

Finally, her own pace quickened when she realised that he was following her. Her previous lack of awareness made him realise that perhaps she was simply a normal person. Naive, yes, but just a simple civilian who had no business with such a powerful... Idea. Someone who had merely doodled this sign. Or perhaps… she was leading him into a trap. The glow from his eye grew as he allowed himself to watch the periphery of the path they were both on.

Yet nothing pounced at him from the darkness.

They were midway through the park before she rounded upon him under a solitary lamp, the brightest so far, hands still deep in her pockets and a calm expression on her face. This was a clearing with no trees, no benches, only the singular gravel path they stood on.

“Who’s there?” She called out, and Cable realised that despite her demeanor, the tightness in her voice gave away the tension she had gathered in their foot chase. Typical defensiveness, just like a simple civilian would. "I knew cutting through the park was a bad idea," she muttered. 

He stepped into the pool of light, raising both hands, the one without the paper empty and placating, palm open, tried to rearrange his facial features into a more neutral visage. He must have seemed like some kind of prowling predator. 

Her face registered the surprise she undoubtedly felt, seeing the man who had followed her from the bar. She was clearly young, and looked nothing like…

“I just want to ask one question.” He held out the piece of paper, running the organic fingers of his right hand along the pattern that had been scribed, almost fully embossed by a heavy press of her pen. The ink that had leaked through was almost dry now. 

“I’m sorry, was that too forward?” The shifting of her feet seemed to indicate a different kind of emotion and caused the rest of his words to falter. She had her own hands out of the pockets, hugging herself self-consciously. 

He could not help but let slip a word detailing his growing confusion. “What?”

“I’m… I was just trying to cheer you up, you seemed a bit… stressed back there. I wasn’t… trying to pick you up. Much. Okay, maybe some. But I chickened out.” Seeing that he said nothing, the woman continued, this time gesticulating as she spoke. “I mean, I do think you’re very attractive, but uh I hope that you don’t… take it the wrong way.” She cocked her head as she processed his own silent contemplation. Something was clearly not adding up.

“You didn’t read it, did you?” A small chuckle escaped her now-upturned lips. “Oh gosh, this is awkward. Um...” she was starting to turn away from him. 

He raised it to the light, now realising that a spidery script had been on the other side of the thick piece of paper. This was… cursive, as he recalled. It was rarely practised in his time, a time when digital displays depicted only the most directive forms of instructions. Frivolous, it was, to write in such. 

> _You look troubled. Have a drink on me, handsome._

 It was now his turn to feel uncomfortable.

“That… that wasn’t my question.” He muttered. “You...” Raising the slip again, he tried to speak sense amidst this contrasting information. This was when a heavy droplet splashed onto the paper, heralding the abrupt crash of rainfall, sheets that descended upon their very exposed position in that park. Sharp flashes of white light reverberated in crashes that were very, very near. Lightning could easily seek them out. 

“So much for my shortcut — look, we need to get out of the storm.” She grabbed his arm and started pulling him in the opposite direction of where they had come.

Cable shrugged off his own oilskin coat, raising the fabric above the two of them. She paused just a little, before acknowledging the gesture with a nod, ducking under what he had offered. It was scant cover, but was a much-welcome shelter as they pushed through the pouring wetness.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, there’s a café that’s open 24/7 but has the vilest coffee… or…”

“Or?”

“Well I don't know if I should be telling you this, but my apartment is also close by."

“…”

“Look, I know how it sounds. But this is definitely not a proposition.”

Somehow, he felt his own lips curve upwards against his will.


	3. My baby shot me down

_This it?_

_Yup._

_You don’t lock?_

_Lock’s been broken as far as I can remember. No one comes up here anyway._

_You have a disturbing amount of faith in the denizens of this neighbourhood. And your landlord._

_Eh, why would anyone want to rob an unemployed researcher? I have nothing of value._

She plucked the dripping wet coat from him efficiently, threading a pole through the sleeves, before hanging the whole thing to dry in the long, but narrow space next to the main door, removing her shoes and motioning that he should do the same. Cable couldn't help but note that the paper he had held was now thoroughly soaked and useless. He tried not to let his frustration show.

_Beer? I only have a couple of cans, gotta make a grocery run tomorrow._

He shook his head. He needed to clear his mind.

_I just need you to—_

_Oh, here, I’ll get you some clothes to change. They had a dryer installed, might as well try it out._

If only she would let him finish his question… He kneaded his brow... the things he had to put up with for answers.


	4. I can't get me no

Bored now, Wade looked down at the card he had pulled from the drops that day. Weasel had taken to allowing for some kind of lottery classification process, one would simply pull numbers from the Sorting Hat (not the Rowling one). This was not Wade’s idea, but he had been so proud when it was first unveiled, his best friend was growing up so fast. Vanessa was off with some girlfriends for the weekend, something about a bachelorette party in down south. He could probably squeeze in a couple of contracts before the weekend was up, weddings were always so expensive.

 As per the usual, the dossier would be sent to him via cell when he accepted the job. Idly looking up to see Weasel and Dopinder move in new cases of beer, he wondered if there would always be more nefarious villains to slaughter. The status quo, for now, seemed so, medium-sized fish seemed to move in just as fast as Wade cleared them out.

 _Blip_. The pdf loaded on the ( _juuuuust shy of)_ five-inch screen _(he didn’t need another large appendage down his pants, the suit wouldn’t fit otherwise)_ and the picture that came up looked vaguely familiar.

The mess of dark hair framing a heart-shaped face, the dark irises that carried more than just a come-hither—was it… _her_?

Wade looked up at Weasel, who was stocking the commercial cooler behind the bar, turning his attention back to the screen, seeing that his best _(worst?)_ friend was suitably engaged and wouldn’t try to read off his mobile like the worst kind of people on the subway. She had obviously changed her appearance since this photograph was taken, a sure sign that whatever this was... He let that thought trail off in his head. It was now nice and mysterious.

Redacted material spanned much of the report, though suffice it to say that the constant blacking out of information was old and cliched. Like the _nth_ Mission Impossible film, completely expected, but the stale promise of a blockbuster certainly came through with tens of hilariously blacked-out pages and accompanying photographic evidence of a smoking crater in what looked to be _Area 51_.

Oh boy.


	5. (satisfaction)

The patter of rain had not stopped since the previous evening. Cable opened his eyes blearily and sat up, feeling the pull of the muscles in his chest as they tugged against the alloy sinew… his bare chest. He poked the offending spots gingerly. Picking up his shirt from the floor, Cable got off the bed and limped through the doorway to his right. Cold granite was a little punishing on his bare feet this early in the morning. A bathroom. As was his habit, he spent some time examining the merging of his flesh and the metal, straining to tell the difference from the previous morning. Sometimes, when he had been overly inebriated, the encroachment would appear more obvious. Other times, the advance appeared to have stopped. It was only after he had addressed this daily ritual that he realised that this was not his motel room, and these were not his pants.

Stepping back into the bedroom, he cast his gaze over the rumpled bedsheets. Where was— this was when he remembered the young woman from the night before. This was her apartment. As soon as he established that fact, he heard something coming from the room beyond.

He walked down the steps of the loft and entered the den he had seen the night before, half-closed behind a door that had also doubled as a bookcase. She had not explained the reasons for anything, and neither had he asked, in the lead up to… But she was engrossed in front of a supercomputer that took up half the room. Numerical figures and computations flashed across the many display sets, digital representations of human figures. What looked to be coils of insulated wiring were attached to the back, clearly not the result of just a passing hobby. She had to be involved in more than just the study of nanotechnology.

“Running the simulation again,” she murmured, tapping the keys of her massive machine.

He looked over at the screen, and saw the numbers reflected on her face, some program was running furiously on her screen. He watched as a simulation of sorts seemed to be set in motion with just a few button presses. She was in clothes too large for her, similar in material to his.

“Oh— hey you’re awake,” she turned and glanced sideways at him briefly before turning her attention back to her simulation. “There’s still some coffee in the pot—help yourself?”

He sighed, soon finding himself in the kitchen, sobering only when the smell of the coffee grounds hit. Grabbing his now-clean clothes from the washer-dryer, Cable changed out of the soft linen that had fit so discomfortingly, wondering why he did not question her about any of this the previous night.


End file.
